


Any Previous Injuries

by Murataku



Category: Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog
Genre: Frequent mentions of injury, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 09:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18847819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murataku/pseuds/Murataku
Summary: In which Moist reminisces about the ups and downs of his chosen profession while filling in yet another hospital form.





	Any Previous Injuries

It had been a bad night.

And not just because of the paperwork mix-up either, though that _was_ kind of annoying, as it meant that Moist now had to more-or-less recount an entire medical history in one night. From memory. He had a hard enough time just keeping the paper from getting soggy.

One of the nurses on duty handed him a coffee and a new towel with a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry about this. It’s Marlina, our new admin assistant. She thought there must’ve been a mistake and wiped the files.” She glanced at the prone figure on the bed beside them. “She didn’t realise he’s a special case.”

Moist took a sip of the coffee he’d been offered. Perfect. Angela was famous for her coffee runs. Rumours of her skills were forever making their way around the hospital, how she could carry twenty cups at once, or how coffee she made was never too hot or too cold, or how she had the entire hospital staff’s drink orders memorised. If he didn’t know better, Moist would swear that was her superpower. Coffeemancer.

Well, he’d heard weirder.

“What happened to Himiko? She finally going on that world cruise she always said she’d do?”

“Oh, no. Maternity leave. Marlina’s just covering until she gets back.” She squinted at a form and sighed. “Or until we find someone who doesn’t try to reorder our entire system.”

“Well, good luck. And tell Himiko I’m happy for her.”

“She’ll like that.” She made to leave. “I’d better leave you to it. Buzz if you need anything, alright?”

Moist nodded. “I will. Thanks.”

Angela left, seemingly taking the lingering smell of ground beans with her, leaving Moist in a cold room with an unconscious body and a mountain of paperwork. Great.

Machines beeped next to him. He gave the bed another worried glance, sighed, and picked up the next form. And groaned.

_List any previous injuries:_

This was going to take a while.

_Broken leg, left_

Hammer, of course. Kicked the Doc in the leg. Moist had heard that one from the other side of the room. If it hadn't been for Hammer being called away to a full-blown ELE attack across town, they'd have never gotten out of there. As it was, Moist pretty much had to carry the Doc to the car to get him to the hospital.

_Broken arm, right_

Hammer again. Thankfully, the hospital was privately owned and, on the quiet, populated mostly by members of the Henchman's Union. They had the latest in medical care, they were fast and, most importantly, they didn't ask prying questions about just how, for example, the same man manages to make seven hospital visits in the space of five weeks. They didn't usually take supervillains as well as henchmen, there was a different hospital for that, but they had always made an exception when it came to the Doc. He was quiet, polite, and tended to give generous donations. He was also handy for maintaining the equipment and Moist sitting in any room for long kept the hypochondriacs away. Moist, for his part, was thankful the Doc seemed to prefer the small, low-key building over the official ELE joint. Nobody screwed up their nose at him here, and there was much less chance that he’d have to chase some crazed quack away from the room. Moist had his own mad – or at least kinda miffed - doctor to look after, he didn’t need another one.

_Dislocated shoulder, right_

_Dislocated shoulder, right_

Moist paused. Was that how he was meant to write it? He wasn't really sure. He supposed it'd have to do. It had to be better than writing an x2 next to it anyway.

_Second-degree burns to hands and arms_

_First-degree burns to face_

Amazingly enough, _not_ Hammer. It was early days, then. At that point, they'd only managed a few small heists and no matter how much the Doc tried to play it up, this one had been no exception. They'd hit a bar while Hammer and the other superheroes were on some retreat or something. The Doc had been excited all week, couldn't keep still. He'd explained his plans over and over, twitching and smiling like an idiot and babbling how this was 'it', this was the one. The place, he'd said, was frequented by all the rich and powerful in the city. Council members, a few big bankers, a celebrity or two, people like that. Moist remembered wondering aloud how the destruction of a bar, even one used by fairly influential people, could really make much difference to society at large. He also remembered, quite vividly, the words that came out of the Doc's mouth right after that.

"What _difference_ does it make? Think! All those people, without a meeting place, without an opportunity to talk, without an opportunity to unwind! Not only will their communication networks be shattered, they'll be stressed, agitated." Here there had been a slightly mad grin. "And what will suffer because of it? Their work! Slowly, surely, society will crumble from the top down. Each irritation having ramifications that reverberate throughout the whole corrupt system!"

"Because you burned their favourite bar to the ground."

The Doc had actually stopped mid-twitch to glare at him.

"Of course it sounds stupid when you phrase it like that."

"We're still going?"

"Yes, we are. To the Hor-"

"Can we please not call it that, Doc? I paid good money for that car."

"...It's my image on the line, you know."

"But it's _my_ car."

"Let's just go."

The car trip had been mostly uneventful. Moist had focused on getting to the place in the middle of the night, night being the only time the Doc would allow a raid. He'd been horrified when Moist had suggested getting there a little earlier, what if there were still people inside? Meanwhile the Doc had rummaged through his bag of rays, looking for the leftover pennybombs they'd used to hit all the parking meters. After they went off there'd be practically nothing left of them, making them perfect for this. No trace.

No, the eventful part had come when the bombs went off a little too early, causing them to have to cut the raid short. That is, before they managed to get outside. Moist, who could take heat slightly better than most due to possessing a constantly-replenishing layer of moisture between him and the outside air, had managed to cart out any money and the bag of rays before heading back inside to see what was taking his boss so long. He’d found the Doc standing in the middle of a burning room, bathing in the orange glow. He had turned to Moist, eyes bright with a fire that had very little to do with the flames crawling up the walls.

"Look," He'd said, gesturing to the flames and smoke that were quickly surrounding them. "This is it. We're doing it. We're actually doing it!"

The next part Moist remembered mostly because it was possibly the stupidest way a person had ever told a friend they were in danger.

"And...you're _actually_ on fire."

And he had been. While the Doc had been watching the destruction in wonder, his sleeve had strayed too close to the rising flames, which had then begun crawling up his arm. Unfortunately, their flailing attempts to put him out just caused the fire to spread, and by the time they were safely outside and merely smouldering, his boss had managed a few nasty burns to his arms and a light burn or two to his face. And yet, his grin had still been there, even wider than before.

"This is...something. We're doing something. We're not just sitting around, hoping things will get better."

"Yeah. Speaking of which, we should probably get you to the hospital..."

"What? Oh, yeah..."

And that was all there was. The loss of the bar had been felt, sort of. It was in the paper, and apparently one or two bigwigs had complained about the loss of their favourite watering hole. But the whole thing had been put down to vandals. Nobody even considered it might have been an act of supervillainy. Moist supposed you couldn’t win everything.

_Concussion_

_..._

_Concussion_

_Concussion_

_Concussion_

_Concu_

_..._

_Several concussions_

Better. Moist wondered for a moment if he should cross the others out, but opted to leave them there to make sure the staff got the point. There were a lot of things Moist assumed Hammer had probably never done. Graduated high school. Passed a mirror without stopping. Put an apostrophe in the right place. He was more than certain that Hammer had never pulled a punch in his life.

_Really, really bad sunburn_

Not exactly a technical term, but Moist was on his forth cup of coffee and his eighth towel. It’d do. This one was, again, not due to Hammer. Actually, this one was probably mostly on Moist himself.

It had been during the middle of spring, when the grass was growing, the birds were singing, and everyone had been out. For a moment or two Moist had entertained the tiny hope that the Doc would take that as an opportunity to take up swimming, jogging, extreme outdoor dentistry, anything to get him out of the lab and into something even remotely resembling a functioning social life. And maybe, just maybe, into the habit of checking his own mailbox every once in a while.

Instead, the Doc had spent most of the days glaring out the window, muttering to himself. Moist hadn't known what about and hadn't been sure he wanted to ask. Eventually, he’d found out anyway.

"I'm gonna go out for a bit. Hold the fort here, okay?" Came a voice, muffled by the utterly nondescript grey hoodie that the Doc had been pulling over his head.

Moist had put another soggy pile of mail on the table. "You're...going out? Really? Wasn't laundry day yesterday?"

"Mmmf...mmmf mfff...."

What?

Moist had looked up to find his boss flailing with the hoodie, clearly struggling to find the head hole.

"Uh...you need any help?" He'd said, reaching out a hand.

"Mmmf...No, I've got it." Had been the answer as Horrible finally found the head hole. Transformation into Billy complete, the Doc had suddenly looked around nervously. "Uh...It's not laundry day, no...it's just...I just have to go get some supplies, okay?"

"Right...Sure, man. You need a lift or...?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

And that'd been that, at least until the Doc had returned an hour later, panting, arms full of various pipes, electronics, and several bottles of water. Suddenly filled with visions of their fried corpses lying next to soggy, sparking electronics, Moist had rushed over to help.

"Oh, right, thanks..."

Moist vividly remembered looking down at the bundle of junk in his arms and not having even the slightest bit of confidence in whatever contraption they were destined to become. Being a supportive henchman who liked his paycheck, he had shown interest anyway.

“So, what’re we looking at here, Doc?”

The Doc had given him a grin.

“Weather machine.”

“A weather machine?” Moist had frowned. “Isn’t that Hurri-pain’s thing?”

A twitch, then he’d recovered.

“We’re going to show the people how fragile their carefree existences really are. We’re going to take away these sunny days they think will last forever and put in their place cold and rain, until they understand how easily I can control their lives!”

It’d been a good speech, really. Moist would probably rank it as one of his boss’s best, at least in the off-the-cuff category. It was just a pity that he’d given it while still holding a comically large bottle of Aquafina Spring Water, which had more than a little ruined the ‘Doctor Horrible, PhD in Horribleness’ vibe he’d been going for.

That had probably been what clinched it.

In one smooth and astonishingly un-soggy move, Moist’d gotten the bottle onto the table and the Doc halfway out the door before either of them really noticed what he was doing.

“Okay. We’re going out.”

Moist was not a strong man. Neither was the Doc. The ensuing startled scuffle as the Doc tried to dig his heels in and Moist shoved had not been dignified, but at least it had kept the Doc vaguely heading in the direction of the door.

“Look, Doc, if you get any paler, you’re gonna turn see-through. Don’t you need the sun for like, Vitamin B, or something?”

“D.”

“What?”

“It’s Vitamin D.”

Moist hadn’t really cared but he’d nodded anyway.

“Right, Vitamin D. So, we should go to the beach, or the park, or just kinda…out. Just for a couple hours?”

A pause, a dubious look, and another stumble towards the lab.

“Moist, stop it, I’ve got work to d-“

“You really think Penny will wanna talk to you if she can see your spleen?”

It had been a low blow, and Moist wasn’t proud, but it _had_ stopped the Doc in his tracks.

He’d shot one last look back at the bottle, then shrugged. “Alright. I need to choose the right spot to deploy the machine anyway. Just let me find a T-shirt, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Doc.”

It had taken about an hour after leaving the house for the Doc, grape slushie in hand, to finally admit to enjoying himself.

And it had taken about two extremely sunny and actually somewhat enjoyable hours after that for Moist to realise that neither of them had brought their key.

And had taken about two increasingly sweaty and sunburnt hours after _that_ for a locksmith to finally get them back inside.

On the plus side, to this day the Doc still swore that the absolutely glowing sunburn he’d sported for weeks after had gained him some very sympathetic glances from Penny. Still no actual _talking_ , but eye contact had definitely been made.

Small victories, and all that.

A groan from the bed had Moist nearly dropping the papers again. He turned to see the Doc beginning to try to sit up, then spotting the beeping machines and deciding against it.

“Oh, hey! How do you feel?”

The Doc turned his head to face Moist and winced.

“Awful. Did I win?” He asked, rubbing at his head.

Moist tried to stick to the positives.

“I mean, you didn’t die. That’s good, right?”

The Doc thought about it.

“Probably.”

He tried to sit up again, but flopped back with a groan. Moist hovered anxiously.

“You look like crap, Doc. You wanna try to get some rest?”

The Doc pulled a face.

“Got work to do.” He mumbled, but from the look of him he was already drifting back off.

“I’ve still got a bunch of forms to do, so we’re gonna be here ages. You might as well…” Moist trailed off as a snore came from the bed. He watched the Doc’s too-thin chest rise and fall for a moment before sighing and wiping his hands on yet another fresh towel. He picked up his pen and glared at the paperwork.

“Alright. Show me what you got.”

The rest of the form went by in a daze, the various incidents and injuries bleeding together even as Moist wrote them.

Was this what henching was supposed to be like? All the big news stories always had henching as piling money into bags on a heist, or pulling the lever that unleashes the piranhas with drills for eyes, or something. They’d been pretty light on the filling out forms at 2am while your boss laid half-dead in a hospital bed.

Then again, they also always starred ridiculously attractive henchgirls in impractically tight themed leotards hanging off the arms of villains with much more clout than his boss.

Must be fun at the top.

Moist tried to force himself to cheer up. Things would get better. The Doc’s ELE application had been sent in, the Freeze Ray - “Look, Moist, it _freezes time_. Freeze. Freeze Ray. Okay?” - was coming along, and the Transmatter Beam was ready to go.

Sooner or later, the Doc would get everything he ever wanted.


End file.
